


Barriers

by aronnaxs



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Incest, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 04:45:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1844791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aronnaxs/pseuds/aronnaxs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All he knows is this. These crippling thoughts. A remote picture of the prince. What he sees in this darkened room.</p><p>-Thranduil often watches Legolas from behind a dark barrier, staying at a safe distance, knowing he can never be his-</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barriers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Violette_Pleasures](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violette_Pleasures/gifts).



> This is for the lovely 'violette-opalescence' or 'serpentine-kings-alien-queen' on tumblr who I'm doing an art/fic swap with. She requested bathing sex which I'm all too happy to write haha. And I haven't written Thrandolas for a while so was happy to get back to them too xD

He knows he should not be here. It is dangerous. His mere presence in this room threatens to tip the scales in his already fractured mind. Years of staying at a diligent, safe distance have done their best to muffle the turmoil in his heart. But sometimes it breaks through; a disease where conventional illness cannot strike his kind.

This is his sickness. 

This is his weakness.

There are many scapegoats he could accuse for this immorality. Isolation within this darkened kingdom where he cannot see the light of sense. Solitude and desolation. Trying to cling to the last beautiful thing in his life. How much he reminds him of - her. But truly, the blame lies within himself. He has given in. He has let this darkness fester and now he is consumed by it. The path is lost behind him. 

He should not be here. Not with these ghosts inside of him. To be so close, yet so faraway, could be the downfall of them both. 

But he is just beyond his reach, as he ever is, and he is intoxicating. He does not know why he still comes here; to torment himself, to just be near to him, to observe the beauty that can never be his. The confusion of senses that are aroused in him every time place a stranglehold on his throat, make his skin crawl. The chills that pierce his spine are only replaced by the heat which still defiantly fills him. It is a bittersweet torture.

He tells himself every day that he will pass by the room this time, as he should. He does not deserve this. But it is a promise he knows he will break.

He watches him in silence, a spectre-like figure by the doorway. Mere paces away, his son bathes, serene, tranquil, always alone. Thranduil thinks that if he had a partner, it may ease the turmoil within him. But Legolas has never been concerned in attaining one, his interests lying with the defence of the realm and its affairs. Thranduil feels a swell of pride, which only serves to make his guilt more potent. Legolas is one of the most able of the kingdom's guards. He is coming to be unmatched in his archery skills. He is agile, but infused with that virile power that all of Mirkwood's best soldiers have. He has a vast future in front of him. Thranduil's forbidden thoughts do not matter.

But they pain him even so. 

Before him, Legolas appears to move through the water without disturbing it. He has a grace and softness about him which remind Thranduil sharply of his wife. She is long-gone, disappeared into the depths of the forest eight centuries ago, but her spirit lives on through their sole son. Sometimes, he wishes he didn't resemble her so much. It stirs him; it makes him feel even more remorse for his depravity, as if it infects and betrays the memory of her; it destroys him. 

After her loss, he had vowed to protect Legolas, to keep him close. But the grief in his fëa had spread, manifested itself in different manners, and he could do nothing but to stay away. For both of their sakes. Legolas had found his own journey and a barrier had grown between them. Safe, normal in how long it had been there, but still shameful.

Thranduil hides behind it like a coward. He has faced armies in distant ages, but now barely has the courage to face his own son. 

Legolas is unaware of his presence at the door. He rises from the water, the fine droplets decorating his strong body, and Thranduil wishes to hide his face in regret. But he can only watch as Legolas stands to full height, revealing the entirety of his loveliness. He is lithe as all elves are, but adorned with the healthy muscles of a warrior, his arms, legs and chest statuesque in their beauty. Long, golden hair hangs down his back, dripping wet. His skin is flawless, radiant. He is like the light of the stars; enchanting, poetic, separated from him by a dark void. Such allure is agony.

The speeding of his heart and the warming of his loins mortifies Thranduil. His whole being seems to rebel against his mind, detached from all sense of morality. If he could, he would run and never think or feel these terrible things again. He has often tried. But he always comes back, to these awful fantasies, to this door. 

Sometimes, he tries to blame Legolas for the devastation that befalls him at his image. But the younger elf is just another scapegoat. Legolas is the last green leaf in a sickened, withered forest. His own corruption is his deepest wound. He has become his own enemy. And though the barricade separates him from his son, he cannot hide from himself.

So he is left alone, to be engulfed by his own troubles. For many years, he feels he has not has any word from Legolas, as if he is a faraway world. Often, it seems like he truly is. Thranduil barely knows anything more than what he is told by guards and messengers; and that information is never enough, swathed in politics and respect. He does not know Legolas' frame of mind. He does not know of his wellbeing. He hardly knows anything about his own son's life. This only serves to make the space between them more desolate.

All he knows is this. These crippling thoughts. A remote picture of the prince. What he sees in this darkened room.

Legolas turns from him now, starting to sink back into the warmth of the water. Thranduil knows he must leave; he cannot bare this misery any longer. But, with the sound of one footfall, a misstep and the softly echoing noise of a rolling stone, Legolas freezes. All his muscles tense, whole being alert and ready. It is impossible that he could have missed the disturbance. Legolas' senses are sharper than even some elven scouts. 

Thranduil finds he cannot move. He must - he must hide himself and not allow Legolas to know who is intruder is - but he is paralysed by the turmoil in his mind. He can only watch as his son bends to his discarded clothes and retrieves a deadly blade. It flashes perilously, Legolas emerging from the pool and brandishing it nearer and nearer. He is still utterly nude, but Thranduil knows had he been someone here to cause Legolas harm, he would not stand much of a chance. 

But maybe he is someone here to cause Legolas harm.

He has already proved he does not stand a chance against him. He has not for many years.

He tries to shift his limbs and escape from Legolas' dangerous presence, but his heart is beating so thickly in his chest he thinks Legolas must have already heard him. Familiar chills and heat assault him, the long distance separating him from his son closing. He is poised for a fight now, deadly, lethal, frighteningly beautiful.

Legolas is soon barely more than ten paces from him. He can hear his light breathing, see his imposing posture through the gap of the door, smell the heady scent of bathing oils. It turns Thranduil's blood to fire and ice. He is so near, he could reach out and touch him.

The seconds seem to stretch for an eternity. Legolas' voice echoes out, defiantly asking who is there. His free hand comes out, glancing against the handle of the door. Thranduil can see him but as of yet, Legolas cannot tell who his visitor is. He could still run away from this.

But then the space between them widens as Legolas wrenches the handle back. The malice immediately vanishes from his face. The knife drops from its aim at Thranduil's throat. Shock, confusion - and is that a vague dash of gladness? - overtakes his expression. 

"Adar -" he says, broken, questioning. Thranduil notices for the first time, with horror, that his eyes are a blushed red colour, as if tears have recently been shed. He stares at him, bound and caught in a tangled web of emotions. His throat feels as though it is constricting. What has he done? He should have run while he still could.

Legolas appears to tremble, though elves do not feel the cold. He stands, unashamedly naked before him, and gods, he does not know what he is doing to Thranduil. He is so close it is unbearable. He wants to look away but he can't, the intoxication of being by Legolas after so long overwhelming him. The effect has poisoned his mind, torn the remaining sane thoughts from it. He is dizzy with horror and potent need.

"Ada," Legolas says again. He must be able to tell something is wrong. His eyes are searching him desperately, his breath spilling faster from his rosy lips. "What are you doing here?"

There are no words that Thranduil can respond with. He does not know what he is doing. Maybe he has gone mad at long last, his strength finally withering. But soon, he is reaching for the door, closing it tight behind him as he steps into the room. All he sees is Legolas. He is all he has ever seen, even in times when he should not. He is his terrible obsession.

Legolas looks up, face flushed and body shaking, as he stands a mere step in front of him. Thranduil knows he must leave. But he cannot get out now. The path is lost behind him.

The barrier, so safe and so horribly comforting between them, begins to crumble. Thranduil can feel his will declining with it. He stares at Legolas, silent, waiting for something, and before he can stop himself, he is touching his soft skin, feeling its satin smoothness beneath his trembling fingers. Legolas' breath becomes laboured. His eyes glaze slightly. It may only be wishful thinking but he swears he leans into the sensation.

It sets Thranduil's body ablaze. This one, forbidden touch will be his end. 

In one awful motion, he pulls his bare body to his and presses his mouth against those reddened lips. Legolas stills but doesn't draw away. His hands flutter on Thranduil's arms and the hint of an embrace only prompts Thranduil to kiss him harder. He grasps him possessively, greedily, like one finding water on a barren plain. It is wrong, it is devastating, it is exhilarating.

When he pulls back, tearing away from his addiction, he can barely breathe. The room seems blurred around him. Soon, he will feel hatred towards himself but now, he only feels the choking beat of his heart. His lips are burning, his son's saliva like scalding poison on them. But it is so sweet. He would happily drink the venom and perish for one more taste.

His whole life suddenly seems to slow down. Legolas stares at him with blackened eyes, mouth still hanging open. He is frozen for a moment. His cheeks are notoriously red where Thranduil has been grasping him. He appears to be about to say something, his tongue reaching for the words. 

Instead, he throws himself back onto the pyre and into Thranduil's arms. The kiss that is abruptly forced upon the king's lips matches his own in passion and intensity. It makes Thranduil's fëa almost fracture with untold emotion. He doesn't think, he doesn't look for an explanation. He just kisses him back, running his hands all over the beautiful, offered body before him.

He does not realise he has pushed Legolas further into the room until water suddenly sloshes around his knees. His regal robe will be ruined but he has no care for that. The thought doesn't even cross his mind. His focus - his whole world - is on the being in his arms, moaning, frantically rubbing against him, trying to crawl right into him. He is aching, throbbing with unbidden passion and joy.

They fall into the pool together, Thranduil kneeling waist deep in it and pushing Legolas against a sunken bench. The boy eagerly sits upon it, spreading his legs, pulling Thranduil between them. The frantic kiss still hasn't been broken. Thranduil thinks he could live his whole life without stopping. He is like nectar in the dreamy evenings of summer.

But it is Legolas who finally drags himself away. He gasps and pants for air, throwing back his head like he has resurfaced from a deep sea, and a the hints of a smile strike across his face. It turns into a perfect o-shape as Thranduil attaches his mouth to his neck, sucking at the delicate skin. "Oh gods -" he rasps. "Oh, ada, I thought you'd hate me... I never thought... Wanted you for so long..."

The admissions are like miraculous melodies to Thranduil's ears. He wants to tell Legolas how he could never hate him, how sorry he is, how very much he loves him, needs him, has craved for him. But no words would be sufficient. He opts instead for passionately kissing his throat, embracing him in a crushing hold. Legolas laughs, the sound infused with lust and desire.

They have no time to be slow and tentative with one another. Each has obviously harboured forbidden, dark dreams of this for many a year. Maybe later they will converse, act tenderly, but now, the hidden emotions have burst their banks and are flooding through them. Their mutual neglect and solitude has stolen all of their patience. In a frenzy, Thranduil tugs at his clothes, him and Legolas ripping down the visible and unseen confines between them. He is as nude as Legolas in seconds. The sensation of their naked skin rubbing is breath-taking.

Thranduil's wandering hands immediately descend to Legolas' hips, shifting them upwards, lifting him towards his body. Legolas whines, wrapping his legs keenly about Thranduil's waist and nodding furiously. "Yes, Valar, please, yes..." he begs. But the pleading is unnecessary. Thranduil couldn't stop now even if he tried.

Blindly, his mouth now plundering Legolas' again, they both reach along the rim of the pool, searching for the bathing oils. Legolas spills one in his haste. But the other is poured over Thranduil's fingers, coating them substantially. With the water helping to ease his way, he quickly reaches between Legolas' legs, finding the delicate entrance. Legolas moans petulantly, encouraging him. One finger, then two, and the younger elf is writhing, his hips moving to try and fuck himself on them. Thranduil keeps him still, soothing the pain with sweet kisses upon his mouth. But when he brushes against a raised mound inside of the prince, his head is thrown back, a carnal wail spilling from him. "Valar!" he shouts. Thranduil does it again, feeling him flutter around him. "Don't stop, don't stop...!"

Another finger and he can rub the gland three times over and over. Legolas is assaulted with ecstasy, eyes squeezed shut and lips bitten red. Thranduil thinks he could fit another but the boy may faint before getting what he needs. What they both need.

He feels like nothing else in the world matters anymore but he and Legolas. The turmoil within him has turned to ardour, equalling or surpassing it with its force. Nothing stands between them both.

He can barely grasp the oil vial, his hands are shaking so violently. But Legolas' whimpers stir him onwards, arousing him even more than he already is. He pulls him to his chest and Legolas wraps his arms about his neck, positioning himself ideally. "I love you, I love you," he murmurs repeatedly into his ear. Tears spring to Thranduil's eyes in gratitude. 

The sensation of thrusting up into Legolas' warm, snug body drives all coherence from his mind. A wail comes from the prince and his toes curl against his back. Thranduil has to muster all his self-control not to simply ravage him. But Legolas is just as eager as he is and soon he is squirming, needing so much more. Thranduil cannot hold back any longer.

Clutching him as if he the only thing he has left - and maybe he is, Thranduil begins to move, his pace instantly increasing to an avid force. Legolas moans, burying his head into his neck and kissing the skin there. His touch is like an enchantment, capturing him without resistance. It sears his flesh and only makes him hunger for more. All the walls have fallen between them and now they are together, entwined in this spell.

Legolas is sobbing in delight atop him, meeting his every thrust. They have found a perfect rhythm and it is only the feel of the strong body pressed to him that keeps Thranduil grounded. He can barely see through this impassioned haze, but can hear Legolas' pronouncements of love and affection, and can taste his mouth on his lips. He answers his words with the same fervour, and moves inside of him over and over again, smacking against that incredible spot each time now. Legolas can barely breathe, and neither can he. 

"Oh Valar, ada..." he manages finally. The warmth around Thranduil's cock is starting to constrict in spasms. "Oh, I - I..."

His legs and abdomen convulse against him, hands turning to fists and claws. He whines and now his rhythm is lost, the water crashing and smacking into them in rampant waves. Legolas drives himself one, two, three more times upon him then gasps and comes thickly between them. The tightening of his channel and the babbled cries of devotion that erupt from him take Thranduil over the edge too, and he sees white starlight as he shatters. It is beautiful; it is perfect; it chases away all the darkness.

When they return to reality once again, Legolas is leaning, flushed and panting, against the rim of the pool. Tears streak his lovely face and for a moment, concern spikes through Thranduil. But then a joyful smile spreads across his mouth. Thranduil has not seen him smile for too many years. It is infectious. "Ada," he says. "I never dared hope that you could ever feel the same way about me as I do about you. I thought you would hate me. It agonised me for so many years, I felt so wrong... Ever since she left and it was just me and you. I thought I had shamed you both... But - but -"

"Ssh." Thranduil presses a hand to Legolas' cheek. He lets out a breath and it seems the whole weight of the world has fallen from his shoulders. "You do not have to explain to me how it feels as I have experienced it too."

"I thought it would ruin us, ada..."

"I know. But it won't."

"It won't." Legolas smiles again. He presses a kiss to Thranduil's palm and looks gently into his eyes. They are together, the desolate void closed and the barriers fallen. Light shines through the dark, withered trees that have been hanging over them. "Will you stay with me?" Legolas asks. 

Thranduil nods. "I think we both need cleaning up," he says. But Legolas shakes his head.

"I mean - you will not leave me again?"

Thranduil returns the caring gaze Legolas has bestowed upon him, searching the depths of his fëa which now seems laid bare to him. Finally, he smiles back. "No," he replies surely. "I will not."

The remaining doubts clear from Legolas' expression. He takes Thranduil's hand, guiding him back down into the water. They are together.

And though the path may still be lost behind Thranduil, another has opened up before him.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Fëa - soul  
> Adar - father  
> Ada - dad/daddy  
> Valar - the Powers of Arda  
> 


End file.
